<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>TWO FACE by byesweetheart (ConstantComment), severalsmallbeans</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27257818">TWO FACE</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantComment/pseuds/byesweetheart'>byesweetheart (ConstantComment)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/severalsmallbeans/pseuds/severalsmallbeans'>severalsmallbeans</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Artist Tanaka, Bassist Tanaka, Drummer Nishinoya, Embedded Images, Existential Stuff of the Punk Rock Variety, Feelings Realization, Gratuitous F-word, Guitarist Hinata, Lead Singer Kageyama, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Punk Rock, Queer Themes, References to Drugs, Runaway Hinata, Tokyo Rockers, art collab, fringe culture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:29:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,994</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27257818</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantComment/pseuds/byesweetheart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/severalsmallbeans/pseuds/severalsmallbeans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Fucking nice to see you, too,” Noya sing-songs at Kageyama in the rear mirror, nearly dropping his cigarette. He then glances over at Tanaka, who grabs his sketchbook from the floor and props his feet on the dashboard. “Soooo! Biggest show comin’ up, craziest bands you’ll never hear on the radio set to play, and the smallest bands you’ll never hear again — ”</p>
  <p>“That’s us,” Tanaka interjects, tensely shading in a sketch of a veiny cock wearing a samurai helmet. </p>
  <p>“All this in less than a month...” </p>
  <p>“Breaking news,” Kageyama says.</p>
  <p>“Tobio,” Noya continues, “Man… we need a new lead guitarist.”</p>
</blockquote>In which there is drinking, food smuggling, dick drawing, unconfirmed glue-sniffing, confirmed puking, onstage indecency, and a little bit of falling in love as Kageyama and his bandmates barrel toward a high-profile band competition at the beginning of the Tokyo Rockers era.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>247</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Eternal Zine</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>TWO FACE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>What a weird and wonderful ride this collab was! Thanks heaps to my zine buddy and hemisphere shadow, <a href="https://twitter.com/SeveralSmlBeans">beans</a>, who is wildly smart, creative, funny, and way more punk rock than me. :D This band AU is our freaky lil child but is easily the coolest child I've ever made XD. Punk rock in Japan is fascinating, and I encourage you to dig around to find out about its beginnings.</p><p>Heavily inspired by bands like The Stalin, which you can hear a little of in <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0H7xUNrsA3iC1putAOesmG?si=65bGOnA3SWmiBLeEfIgSPg">this playlist</a> if you're feeling rowdy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sound is deafening. A clawing screech of feedback flooding ears, eyes, mouth. A sickening chord of sound scraping out of the speakers, from the amp, returning, stuffing down the mic’s throat, fraying through the wires in an endless nauseating loop. Even after, when it all fuzzes out, the silence is a roar.</p><p>Standing on the curb of the pristine sidewalk in an anonymous suit and poorly-knotted tie, Kageyama Tobio blinks against the buzz in his brain, feeling like he’s spent the night with his head trapped in a bass drum. </p><p>Around him, Tokyo makes and remakes itself so every day it leaves itself in the dust. Only in the last couple years has downtown bloated into this mess of precisely arranged rubble. The city shines, over-perfect like a mask, obscuring an already unreadable face underneath.</p><p>He grimaces down at the measly file box of belongings in his arms, then sighs up at the pristine layer-cake of concrete and glass office building disappearing into the late afternoon sky. </p><p>“Fucking...” Kageyama begins, squeezing his eyes closed, “<em> fuck, </em>I’m free.” As soon as he says it, it’s gotta be true. It’s gotta be as true as standing on the edge of a cliff — that kind of true.</p><p>Stepping backwards into the road where concrete meets asphalt, Kageyama adds, “Fuck. I’m <em> fucked. </em>”</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p><p>Home is away from the lights growing like invasive plants across the city, dimming as he leaves the business district and reaches his neighborhood. He drops the file box on the steps of his apartment building, because, fuck, why care about any of it when he’ll never see the inside of a cubicle again? </p><p>With a low groan, Kageyama fumbles around in his pocket for his keys, thumb catching the tiny hole inside that he’s never fucking mended, and nearly rips it wide open when the key snags it, too. </p><p>Who knows how long he stands there, debating passing out in the one scraggly bush by the door instead of facing his empty apartment that he can no longer afford, but by the time he’s lifted them to the door, a truck’s squeaky brakes creak <em> slowly </em> up behind him on the tiny street. </p><p>“Oi,” shouts a familiar voice over the engine, way too upbeat for… anything. “Oi, Tobio!”</p><p>Kageyama turns and spots Tanaka, whose shaved head and wiry arms stick out like deranged puppetry from the window of a dingy little delivery van. Tanaka’s grin widens when Kageyama raises his eyebrows in question. He’s wearing his electrician’s uniform but his eyes are still smudged a little with charcoal from at least three days ago, and he’s abandoned the stupid cap on the dashboard where a bunch of cigarette butts, receipts and rags are crammed against the windshield. </p><p>When Kageyama asks, “Why are you here? I’m not supposed to be home yet,” another voice cuts in from the driver’s seat.</p><p>“We were gonna wait until the perfect moment to kidnap you, asshole! Get in the van,” Noya yells around the cigarette trapped between his lips as he leans over the wheel. “Got an emergency on our hands. S-O-S shit comin’ atcha.”</p><p>Kageyama tromps over to the sliding door as Tanaka does some seated gymnastics to open it from the inside. Climbing in, he wedges himself between stacked boxes and cans of non-perishables, sits himself on a container full of pickled radish. </p><p>“What’s the fucking emergency?”</p><p>“Fucking nice to see you, too,” Noya sing-songs at Kageyama in the rear mirror, nearly dropping his cigarette. He then glances over at Tanaka, who grabs his sketchbook from the floor and props his feet on the dashboard. “Soooo! Biggest show comin’ up, craziest bands you’ll never hear on the radio set to play, <em> and </em> the smallest bands you’ll never hear again — ”</p><p>“That’s us,” Tanaka interjects, tensely shading a picture of a veiny cock wearing a samurai helmet. </p><p>“All this in less than a <em> month </em>...” </p><p>“Breaking news,” Kageyama says.</p><p>“Tobio,” Noya continues, “Man… we need a new lead guitarist.”</p><p>Kageyama blinks at Noya’s reflection as they come to a stoplight. Sees the grip he’s got on the steering wheel and recognizes the set of both his bandmates’ shoulders as the dull roar rushes back through his ears, flooding his skull.</p><p>They would never say it’s his fault, but he already knows.</p><p>“We’re getting drinks after to toast to our demise,” Tanaka adds after a long silence, “and to plan our last stand.” When Noya gives him a grumbling protest about being strapped for cash, turning left after a car cuts him off at a stop sign, Tanaka adds, “We’ll toast to <em> your </em> demise, too. Pretty sure Tobio got fired today.”</p><p>“What?!” Noya shouts in the small space. “Aw, hell, S-O-S does <em> not </em> cut it.” </p><p>“If you say sorry I will open the door and throw myself into traffic,” Kageyama grunts, which gets Noya cussing at him, their stupid band, the world and capitalism for the next ten minutes before he starts to plan aloud how on earth they’re going to save their asses for this concert.</p><p>“Maybe your newfound destitution will add nuance to your vocals?” Tanaka jokes, adding an angry face to the head of the cock before he flips the book to sketch something else — another logo draft for their band, Kageyama notes dully, although it will never beat the scribble he made years back, the one of a ghostly head with two faces — one looking forward, expressionless, and the other looking outward, enraptured or enraged. </p><p>Somehow, over time, that ghost had become their band name: Two Face.</p><p>Kageyama’s always liked the original drawing best.</p><p>“I’ve got one more delivery,” Noya sighs, “<em> then </em> we are figuring this clusterfuck out. Try-outs tomorrow night.”</p><p>“Do we even know anyone else who plays?” Tanaka asks.</p><p>After a frustrated pause, Noya shrieks, “Try-outs <em> Friday </em> night!” with a slam of his hands on the steering wheel. </p><p>Kageyama only realizes after ten minutes on the road that he left his file box on his front step. </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p><p>Noya kidnaps Kageyama for the rest of the week to help with his gramps’ grocery’s deliveries, which he could wriggle out of if not for the fact that he has absolutely nothing better to do, other than call Kindaichi up and beg him to come back.</p><p>But, he’s never gonna do that. Neither Noya nor Tanaka ask him to, anyway. Even without Kageyama, Kindaichi would have left eventually. Or, at least, Kageyama thinks he would have.</p><p>Strapped for ideas with the days ticking down, they agree to meet Tanaka at Noya’s final delivery location on Thursday night. It turns out to be a trip to the hostel in Koenji Tanaka came through when he first got to the city, and where some of his artist friends still reside out of necessity, some out of preference. Kageyama remembers Tanaka and Noya got high in the back room once, and Tanaka drew a huge pen drawing of an oni wearing a mask with a human face across the wall that still exists to this day.</p><p>Noya scopes out the alley before they haul some ‘lost deliveries,’ up to the second floor where they’re met with commotion and friends who gladly take the offerings of non-perishables with the flyers Tanaka has been handing out in the neighborhood.</p><p>“Anyone happen to play the guitar?”</p><p>Wandering down the hall, Kageyama folds his arms and watches Noya help a girl with bleached hair tear at a container of prepackaged ramen packets, hears Tanaka chatting with some friends in a room to the side, some of whom he must know from way back.</p><p>“Anyone?” Tanaka shouts after he waves them off. Kageyama leans on a door and does <em> not </em> think about how fucked they are as Tanaka roams the hall, jumping over the overflowing box of ramen. “ANYONE AT ALL PLAY ELECTRIC GUITAR?”</p><p>“Honestly, we’ll take anyone at this point!” Noya adds.</p><p>“We’re not taking <em> anyone, </em> ” Kageyama corrects, feeling his heartbeat pick up with panic. “We’re playing at the Loft in a show <em> next month. </em>”</p><p>A couple of guys lean out and holler that Tanaka hadn’t said he was in a <em> good </em> band.</p><p>Tanaka wails dramatically. “I WILL GIVE YOU ANYTHING — ”</p><p>“You’re piss-poor, Ryuu,” one of them grunts.</p><p>“I WILL GIVE YOU <em> SOME </em> THINGS!” Tanaka amends.</p><p>“He will make you art!” Noya says, and they both shout louder when others complain about the noise. “An original drawing by Tanaka Ryuunosuke — you can sell it for millions when he’s piss-poor no longer!”</p><p>Kageyama pinches between his eyes. “Does no one play music in this shithole?” he groans.</p><p>And then the door behind him opens, sending him crashing to the floor.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>

  </p>
  <p>Artwork by <a href="https://twitter.com/SeveralSmlBeans">SeveralSmallBeans</a></p>
</div><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p><p>From his vantage point, a man floats overhead, haloed by the harsh lighting of what was, apparently, the toilet. </p><p>“Fuck,” Kageyama says eloquently, and the man lets out an insane laugh matching the insane, orange-red hair he’s got growing every which way out of his head. </p><p>“Oh — sorry! Someone needs a guitarist?” he says, bouncing on his toes as he peeks into the hallway, nearly stepping on Kageyama to look. He’s wearing a threadbare t-shirt and crumpled black trousers that look like they’ve been worn a week straight.</p><p>Kageyama hears Tanaka let out a triumphant bleat down the hall. They’re making a fucking scene, so it’s lucky Noya is friendly with the manager, whose muscles could never be hidden even under the sweaters he wears.</p><p>“You play?” Noya appears in the doorway. Kageyama watches the round face of the redhead break into a toothy grin. If he was bouncing before, he’s nearly vibrating now.</p><p>Of course. The only one in this place who can play an instrument, and he’s probably sustained by sniffing glue and cleaning solvents.</p><p>“Anyone want to help me up?” Kageyama snaps.</p><p>Noya helps, but barely looks at Kageyama as he introduces himself. On his feet, Kageyama turns his full attention on the man — who’s a <em> kid </em> — can’t be any older than 18? He looks about as good as he can be for a glue-sniffer living in a hostel, but bows formally, explains he’s been playing for years. His wide eyes are amber-brown when they skip over Kageyama’s unimpressed face, then return to him as Noya talks.</p><p>“You got an instrument?” Noya asks eagerly.</p><p>Tangerine-head bites his lip and shakes his head, hands twisting as Kageyama stares him down. “Not the kind you want.” </p><p>“You play rock and roll?” Tanaka adds, flanking Noya.</p><p>“I can play anything,” he says matter-of-factly. Like that’s something people say. “I’m really good.”</p><p>Kageyama narrows his eyes, and Noya crows. The kid laughs again, eyes crinkling.</p><p>Grabbing a flyer out of Kageyama’s hand, Noya shoves it against the kid’s chest. They all watch his eyes grow even bigger at the sight of the terrifying, two-faced man screaming the location of the try-outs in jagged, scribbly letters. “Come try out tomorrow night at our rehearsal space!”</p><p>Kageyama snorts at the term, ‘rehearsal space,’ but doesn’t have time to say anything because tangerine-head just chirps, “Got nothing else to do,” a little too lightly.</p><p>Kageyama will be very surprised if they ever see him again. </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p><p>Their rehearsal space is just Noya’s near-deaf grandparents’ newspaper-filled basement, but it’s got electricity and thick walls so the police have only been called once. But, it’s not like it matters anymore, because they’ve somehow gotten a fucking <em> classical musician </em> to play in their punk band. They clearly won’t be a band for much longer.</p><p>Hinata — the kid’s real name, although Kageyama still prefers tangerine-head — was… well, he was one of <em> two </em> who showed up. The second was a rhythmless type who bobs around to keep time. </p><p><em> Hinata </em> was another type entirely.</p><p>He’d shown up in a fucking suit with an acoustic guitar slung across his back, looking pasty-pale, jumpy and like he’d be a fucking handful if they went forward with this mess. </p><p>“Can I play mine first?” Hinata had asked as he fidgeted with his guitar strap in the cramped room, glancing across Kageyama, who hadn’t said more than two words since this farce of a try-out began, to Noya and Tanaka, who were leaning against the ratty sofa beside one of their amps. </p><p>With a grin, Tanaka asked for the hardest song Hinata could play.</p><p>Hinata stuck his tongue out of his mouth for a second, and then, like a flipped switch, his jitters died away, he closed his eyes, and he began.</p><p>What followed was the craziest tangle of notes and finger work Kageyama had seen in a long time. He wasn’t sure if it was Hinata or the song that was so uncontained, music tumbling over itself to reach the next measure. But, it was dizzying to watch. </p><p>As Hinata gingerly sets his guitar on the couch with a deep breath, it’s clear the guys are already convinced of the band’s big, bright future. </p><p>Kageyama asks, “What was that you played?”</p><p>“Oh... he talks,” Hinata says, while Kageyama thinks back on the way his body had dipped and moved with each sweeping wave of music, and how much they are going to make his ears bleed with what they subject him to next. “That was Paganini.”</p><p>Swallowing, Kageyama straightens up and walks toward Tanaka’s banged up Les Paul, plugging it in. “Alright, Paganini,” he says, “Let’s see if your fancy fingers can play something with guts.”</p><p>Hinata watches as Tanaka takes the Les Paul from Kageyama. “Got tabs or chords for the melody?” he asks, and gets a crumpled napkin from Tanaka’s jeans.</p><p>After Noya jumps over to the drum set, Tanaka rattles out the melody on the lead guitar. Hinata’s fingers twitch here and there like he’s jonesing even after the brief distraction of Kageyama stepping up to the mic, starting the chant before the first verse. </p><p>Kageyama loses himself for a minute, mind wandering to the train line he takes, the apartment he hates, the job he doesn’t have, the home that’s far away, before the final chorus comes. He shouts into the mic and opens his eyes, catching tangerine-head listening intently, eyes darting between Tanaka’s hands and Noya’s jumping knees and then Kageyama’s white-knuckled hands on the mic. Something in Hinata’s stare makes him drop the final lyrics as Tanaka clumsily concludes the melody on the guitar. The last note lingers.</p><p>“Mind if I make a go of it?” Hinata asks when they all look up.</p><p>Kageyama rolls his eyes as Noya cheers and starts the count again, slapping his drumsticks down on the toms. Tanaka scrambles for his bass, and they begin.</p><p>Hinata completely nails it, and on the second time around adds something that… that their former guitarist couldn’t do, experimenting with the pedals and reverb and any feedback in an honestly... artful way that nearly escapes Kageyama, at first. </p><p>Eventually, Kageyama forgets it’s a try-out at all, barreling into the next song as Noya laughs behind him, and they walk through each, crazy bit of the set for the rest of the evening. Hinata either follows along or improvises, adding layers to the sound, when he can’t follow, and… forget <em> forgetting </em> — Kageyama almost forgets <em> himself. </em></p><p>He screams louder, plays with the lyrics, sweats and gnashes and writhes more than he has in a while, and it’s not just because there’s nothing but infinite void, infinite possibilities, infinite failures ahead of him no matter which direction he goes next. Kageyama screams into it, because of it, and hears the screech of the guitar echo the ache in his bones.</p><p>By the end of the evening Kageyama’s gut twists tight with anticipation. Repeating their first song one last time, he twirls his finger in the air for the guys to keep going with the last chorus, without the vocals.</p><p>And Hinata, nodding his head like it’ll fall off any second, wails on the guitar in Kageyama’s absence, echoing the wail in his voice. </p><p>The whole group pants with exhilaration when the song ends — even after they repeat several bars just because.</p><p>“So, your show’s in three weeks?” Hinata says when they’ve stood in the bloated silence for long enough. With a grin, he wipes his damp hair from his forehead and, despite himself, Kageyama nods back as Tanaka and Noya crowd around Hinata to welcome him officially.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p><p>“Kiddo, we are buying you a huge fucking dinner after that fucking raw shit you delivered,” Tanaka exclaims once they’ve haphazardly packed up their instruments and wandered back into a denser part of town.</p><p>“Gotta replenish my soul after it was sucked outta my dick with that fuckin’ ear orgasm,” Noya adds.</p><p>When Kageyama groans, Hinata just laughs, swaying a little too much under the weight of Tanaka’s arm — deadweight over his shoulders as Tanaka acts out an outrageous but thankfully silent orgasm alongside Noya’s loud grunts as he runs through a couple measures of the song, miming the drum pattern with his tongue lolling out.</p><p>“Lighten up,” Noya whispers as he thrusts past Kageyama. “This kid just saved one of your lives.”</p><p>Kageyama chews on his cheek, but can’t help but snort when Tanaka starts thrusting toward him, Hinata giggling as he’s dragged along.</p><p>“Hotpot?” Tanaka suggests.</p><p>“Please,” Hinata whines gratefully, “I’m starving. Since I puked before the audition — ”</p><p>Tanaka mouths, “Audition,” with an incredulous look at Noya, who snickers.</p><p>“I wasn’t sure how long I could stay standing up. Haven’t had a ton to eat in the last couple days.”</p><p>“Wait, you puked?” Kageyama asks.</p><p>“Glad to help!” Tanaka shouts over Kageyama. “How generous of Nishinoya-san to take us all to a romantic dinner.”</p><p>Noya’s laughter halts abruptly. “Hey!”</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>

  </p>
  <p>Artwork by <a href="https://twitter.com/SeveralSmlBeans">SeveralSmallBeans</a></p>
</div><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p><p>The next week, they barrel through their compositions and hammer out a final set for the show fast enough to get whiplash, and Hinata, as strange and scattered as he seemed at first, quickly catches on.</p><p>Kageyama never said he was nice, but Hinata doesn’t seem to mind, just meets him halfway, if not all the way, fighting back when necessary but keeping up with the brutal pace, the brutal schedule, the brutal energy Kageyama wants.</p><p>Hinata wants the best, too. He wants things more visceral or precise in their imprecision. He wants to run through everything more than even Kageyama does. They very nearly kill Noya, and bore Tanaka so much he runs off unnoticed for a full hour while they’re yelling over how the lyrics and guitar should play off one another. He comes back with a set of eye makeup, paints Noya’s and his own face, and copies the logo onto Noya’s drum without them noticing a thing. </p><p>It’s all for the best when they land a small gig in a warehouse near Tanaka’s work a week before the Loft. And also discover Hinata’s puking wasn’t a one-time thing.</p><p>“I’m a nervous person,” Hinata shakes out as Tanaka tosses his soiled shoes in the garbage, and walks onstage barefoot.</p><p>“Play like you practiced,” Noya shouts, following Tanaka out.</p><p>Kageyama’s panic doesn’t last long, because moments later, Hinata runs onstage and starts the set, letting Noya drop in with an improvised drum solo before the first verse is supposed to begin. It’s like he’s another person onstage. </p><p>Or fully himself.</p><p>Eyes glued to Hinata’s manic body for the whole set, Kageyama chokes up on the mic for the final song and drags it over to Hinata, wanting to choke up on him — make him <em> still </em> so he can be patient, wait long enough, for Kageyama to… to catch up.</p><p>Hinata tilts his head, chewing on his lip and grinning so his dark-rimmed eyes look even wilder in the low light of the warehouse. “Smash it up,” Hinata sings loud enough that the crowd hears, and begins the final few dissonant chords of their set as Kageyama sings it back to him.</p><p>When the gig’s over, it takes a long time for Kageyama to look at him again.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p><p>The days dwindle to hours before the Loft show. </p><p>The night before, they end up staying out too late rehearsing and drinking beer and scavenging snacks from Noya’s kitchen, and Kageyama hardly complains when they saddle him with taking Hinata back to Koenji, since Tanaka’s bunking with Noya to catch his early shift in the morning. And, anyway, Kageyama’s a little drunk and softened by the excitement in Hinata’s smile.</p><p>He barely recalls the band without Hinata, except for when Hinata reminds him. Usually when Kageyama forgets to not-smile at something he says. </p><p>But, when they get off the train stop for the hostel, Hinata’s smile falls and he hiccups, “I don’t want to go back there.”</p><p>Kageyama watches him for a long moment. Watches the jitters return to his hands, until he sees his own cover them.</p><p>The nearest station on his own line is closed when they arrive, and Kageyama realizes they’re stranded for some hours before the trains start up again. But, Hinata’s hand is warm under his, and he’s still drunk, and there’s a bench nearby.</p><p>“You know,” Kageyama mumbles, pulling Hinata toward the bench. “I think what we’re saying… in our songs. I don’t need to sing it <em> well </em> . Don’t even have to be understood. I just have to... <em> sing </em> it.”</p><p>Hinata nods, bouncing in that addict-addled way that used to make Kageyama think he’s itching for a hit of something strong. Kageyama was wrong though, he thinks with a frown. Hinata’s jitters are just a sign that whatever’s inside his heart or his guts can’t be walled in or forgotten or ignored. He’s gotta shake it out through his legs, through his deft fucking fingers peeling apart the notes of a song.</p><p>“You don’t have to do it well, but you do,” Hinata replies with a grin that softens the longer Kageyama stares. “You make ‘em hear it.”</p><p>Kageyama licks the front of his teeth before asking, “Who are you?”</p><p>Hinata stares back. “You know. I’m… the most me I’ve been in a while. Or at least, the least someone else I’ve been in a while.”</p><p>Kageyama struggles with that, but maybe Hinata’s more clear-headed than he, right now. When Hinata says nothing further, just scuffs his dirty chucks against the pavement, Kageyama starts to wonder if Hinata’s talking about that same feeling Kageyama had when he was fired. The same, starkly-sharp line between himself and, well, the self people see when he makes his way back and forth to work everyday, like a robot, full of cogs and no soul.</p><p>“Who was the other you? Before?”</p><p>“I was in university studying music and composition — mostly classical guitar, but cello and piano also. And I met someone at school. But then, well, I met him, um, often. At a love hotel. And one time, we were seen.”</p><p>Kageyama bites his tongue, deliberately.</p><p>“It’s a long story,” Hinata chirps eventually, like it’s not a long story at all. “My family found out and made me choose. Either I finish school, stop being a deviant and marry — and work hard and become a famous musician. Or nothing. I leave.”</p><p>Kageyama thinks about his mother and father. How they don’t know he’s jobless yet. How distant he is from them by choice, where Hinata was forced into that choice.</p><p>“The first option… I didn’t see as an option, not like it is for some people, I suppose. The second option, they didn’t see as an option.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“At least I still can get in touch with my little sis every now and then. Payphones, here and there, you know.”</p><p>Kageyama lets him stare off into the darkness beyond the streetlamp above, before he says, “You can stay with me as long as you want.” </p><p>Hinata turns and looks up at him, eyes glassy-wet in the dim light on the street. His mouth parts before it wriggles into a funny smile.</p><p>Kageyama continues with a lame joke, “Think I gotta find another job to keep my apartment?”</p><p>His smile is audible when he says, looking down the street, “Sounds like you’ve got a story, too.”</p><p>“A stupid one.”</p><p>“Nah.”</p><p>“I’m serious, though — Hinata, we’ll figure something out.”</p><p>Hinata is silent for a long time, until he lets out a soft snore and dips against Kageyama’s shoulder, instinctively huddling away from the chill of the spring night, against him.</p><p>It’s nearly morning. The trains will start again soon, so Kageyama lifts his arm, curls it around Hinata’s back, and closes his eyes.</p><p>Kageyama wakes at the sound of the station gates rattling open. Nodding sheepishly at the guard, he gently coaxes Hinata to stand, to board with him, and to follow him home.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>Artwork by <a href="https://twitter.com/SeveralSmlBeans">SeveralSmallBeans</a></p>
</div><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p><p>The sun is low in the sky again when Kageyama wakes up in his apartment, bleary but somehow... buzzing with newfound energy. When Hinata stretches in the warm spot next to him under the covers, eyes sleepy-content, Kageyama doesn’t wait for the inevitable panic.</p><p>He throws on his shitty suit and tie, like he’s headed for an interview — an audition — and when Hinata steps into the kitchenette halfway dressed in the schoolboyish outfit <em> he’d </em> picked for the show, Kageyama leans on the counter, curves over Hinata, and presses lips over his shocked-open mouth.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p><p>They don’t have time to worry themselves sick, because they’re almost late enough to miss the last available train to get to the show. When they arrive, the show runners are arguing with a frantically smoking Noya backstage while another band’s final song screeches through the speaker system. Hinata drags Kageyama through the masses of people until they find Tanaka with their instruments.</p><p>Noya rushes and attacks from the side, rubbing knuckles harshly into the top of Kageyama’s head until the slightly gelled hair sticks out at all angles, almost identical to how it probably looked two hours ago. </p><p>Hinata takes the guitar from Tanaka, letting it hang from its bright orange strap on his shoulder as he delicately combs his fingers through Kageyama’s hair to make it stand on end and Noya cusses, “Fuck you, fuck both of you, you fuckin’ <em> lovebirds! </em> I know what you’ve been doing today instead of arriving on <em> time </em> like we fuckin’ <em> planned </em> — ” He growls impatiently, punches Hinata’s arm for finality, and storms onstage.</p><p>With a laugh, Tanaka points at Hinata. “Pukey, you better give the performance of your life, <em> especially </em> if you’re gonna barf in front of the crowd.”</p><p>Ignoring Tanaka, Hinata just gives Kageyama’s hair one final, rough tug before he follows Noya out.</p><p>“Got ourselves a good one,” Tanaka says as they watch him go.</p><p>He’ll let them think the worst, even if he’s only going to be singing through lips numb from kissing — slow, chaste kissing — tonight.</p><p>Despite Tanaka’s taunting, Hinata doesn’t look remotely ill. He’s wide-eyed and grinning like usual, but the light of it beams solely at Kageyama when he adjusts the height of his mic and looks over his shoulder at his band. At Noya, who lifts his eyebrows, raises his arms above his insanely spiked hair and slams his drumsticks together. At Tanaka, who follows suit with his bass, arms straining like he’s got an image in his head and his hands won’t stop until it’s embedded deep into paper. Kageyama blinks out at the crowd, who are already riled, excited, and ready to get what they’re given, before looking back at Hinata.</p><p>Gripping the guitar, Hinata fucking trembles, hair shining in the eery stage lights, before ripping the first chords from the strings. Looking right at Kageyama, he’s wild, and focused, and <em> ready </em> when the melody clangs out across the crowd.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p><p>The sparse lights in the rafters are blinding, but Kageyama sees nothing as his head falls back and the sweat pours from his hair, as he pulls his shirt apart so the buttons spring into the audience, as Noya slams on the drums and Tanaka plows through the shouts of the crowd with his bass line. Only a beat of silence follows before the ragged wail of the guitar slices through the air, and Kageyama lifts his head in time to see Hinata step toward him on the platform, eyes both dark and bright as his arms flex, as his fingers skitter over the frets, pick scraping across the metal strings again, again, againagainagain.</p><p>Hinata’s mouth moves with the lyrics, but it’s Kageyama’s voice blaring from the shitty speakers, it’s the crowd shouting it all back to them. </p><p>He’s disembodied. He’s nothing, but he’s watching Hinata step closer and closer until they’re both yelling into the mic, shouting through the tension and the anger and the loss and the unknowableness of what will come next, the unknowableness of a year, a month, a day, an hour or second from now.</p><p>The chorus comes around again and the audience roars, jostling around below them as Hinata drops to his knees and shreds the song apart, as Kageyama towers over him and shouts in his face, shouts until his voice fails — just a rusty growl as he grinds out the lyrics before the final chorus, and then Noya and Tanaka are shouting into their own mics as Kageyama stops to drag Hinata up by the tie still around his neck, and — </p><p>There is a wild moment where Kageyama thinks Hinata is tilting up to kiss him — </p><p>But he just licks the mic, to the crowd’s shrieking pleasure, and plays the final few chords with his tongue hanging loose from his mouth, hair mussed, eyes smudged and looking at nothing but Kageyama.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p><p>The sound is deafening. A scream as quiet as an incoming train, as loud as a whisper, and it feels unreal and real all at once. Another sickening chord of sound scrapes out of the speakers, from the amp, returning, stuffing down the mic’s throat, fraying through the wires, in an endless exhilarating loop. It fuzzes out as the bass line comes in, and there’s nothing but him, and Hinata, and his friends, against the silent roar.</p><p>The last song begins, and Kageyama looks at Hinata. </p><p>Screams back.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>✘✘✘✘✘</p>
</div><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>

  </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Comments &amp; kudos are love! </p><p>Please please please also give tons of love to <a href="https://twitter.com/SeveralSmlBeans">beans</a>, who you can see should be touted far and wide as an international treasure. :D I have never seen work so dynamic. THOSE PERSPECTIVES!!!!!!! I die!</p><p>Find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/byesweetheart_">Twitter</a> for more of the day-to day :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>